1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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